The Decadence Chronicle. Episode 20: Openness

T stared at me with her beautiful blue eyes. “You are different when you have sex. You are more… rough,” she said.
“Oh, shit… I’m sorry,” I said, and put the fucking on hold. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, it’s alright. I like it,” she replied, so I resumed the fucking. And the roughness of it.

It was a cold night, and the damn heater wasn’t working. We laid on my sofabed, embraced tightly under a thin summer duvet. It was nice. I’m a cuddler. She seemed to be one too. And yet I kicked her out of my flat -gently, of course- at 2 am. “I’ve been finally sleeping well lately. I don’t wanna jinx it,” I told her. She understood. I hope.

Tinder’s been good after I came back from Chile last week. Plenty of matches, a decent set of conversations, some nice prospects for future dates. But it puts things in perspective. Is this what being single is all about? Meeting lots of new people, fucking around, and the feeling of emptiness that follows? Is that it? Don’t get me wrong. It’s interesting. But, again, empty.

I was sorting out the remains of my trip. Old plane tickets, receipts, and trash in general. A pleasant fragrance appeared. Marie’s perfume. A sample I got in the duty-free shop of Madrid’s airport, while I was killing time there. While I was missing Copenhagen. While I was missing her.

Maybe home is not a place, nor a feeling or a person. Maybe home is a combination of those three. “What is your most mindful moment?” a girl asked me on Tinder. I said it was my daily commute to and from work, because I could read on the train. The truth is that I can’t think of a more peaceful moment than resting my head on Marie’s chest, lying in her bed; my eyes closed and her hand playing with my hair. As cheesy as it sounds. As homely as it feels.

“I am married,” said T; “but we have an ‘open relationship’ with my husband.”
“Of course you do,” I thought. As a writer, I’m getting used to ending up in situations like these. So I was as charming as I usually am, and we ended up “listening to music” in my place. Which basically means fucking. And it was a new experience. Another story to tell, while the search for a definitive home continues.

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